


Fierce Flowers of Fódlan

by F-117 Nighthawk (F117_Nighthawk)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claude's wyvern loves his partners almost as much as he does, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions/Golden Deer Joint Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Singing, can you believe i've waited an ENTIRE YEAR for something to strike my fancy enough to write it, can you belive i just sat down to write a thing about him singing and it turned into this, claude is apparently an opera singer, just to use that tag, no beta we die like Glenn, some combo of azure moon and verdant wind events, this is inspired by Joe Zieja being an amazingly talented person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25836745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F117_Nighthawk/pseuds/F-117%20Nighthawk
Summary: After the battle of Derdriu, Claude is goaded by a joint Lions-Deer force into showing off his singing skills.Maybe he shouldn't have picked a love song.
Relationships: A mention of sylvix, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Nader & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 72





	Fierce Flowers of Fódlan

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't seen it yet, [you really need to see Claude's VA belting out God Shattering Star.](https://youtu.be/fhWhTbe3MWk)
> 
> random notes for how both Dimi and Claude are alive and sane right now: they ran into each other in the monastery before By got back, both Rodrigue and Judith sent reinforcements to the joint Lions-Deer forces, Gronder is an absolute mess bc TWSITD are getting their beasty groove on, Rodrigue still dies, and then they get word that the Empire has goaded Sreng into launching an attack on the Alliance. Claude take the Deer and most of the army to save it, while By, Dima, and the Lions go free Fhrdiad to cut off Empire access to Sreng, and take back the rest of Faerghus along the way. Claude is like "hey, okay, so we routed them sort of but Derdriu really needs help help?" and cut to this.

“Aw, come on, Claude!” Leonie complained, absolutely three sheets to the wind at this point, “You can’t leave us hanging like this!”

“Yeah! Come on, Leader Man!” Hilda joined in, and soon the rest of the Deer were jeering at him, Leonie even to the point where she was dragging the duke by the arm. Byleth knew she’d be embarrassed by her actions in the morning, assuming she remembered them, but Claude didn’t seem genuinely annoyed by her actions, so she let her continue. 

Claude spotted the Lions heading towards him at the same time she did, casting her a pleading look. She raised an amused eyebrow and shrugged. As much as Claude protested, he hadn’t yet pulled out the “duke voice” as Hilda called it, so she left him to his fate. He pouted at her and was quickly covered by the Lions joining the crowd of people dragging him to the sort-of stage. 

They’d somehow ended up with a party after saving Derdriu, much to Dimitri and Claude’s chagrin. Claude had said he just wanted to go to bed, while Dimitri’s argument was there was still too much to do before a party. Nardel had, surprisingly, insisted, saying they were long overdue for a night off. He’d looked pointedly at Claude while saying that, eventually making the younger man acquiesce. Most people had left by now, leaving the Deer and Lions free to embarrass Duke Riegan to their hearts’ content.

“Should I even ask?”

Byleth laughed, glancing over at Dimitri. “Leonie was trying to get him to join in a drinking song. He protested he’s a horrible singer, which apparently Nardel thinks is hilariously wrong. Cue Leonie and Hilda dragging him towards the stage.”

“I see. Do you think he’ll actually do it?”

“Aye,” a new voice interrupted from behind them, “That kiddo loves singing, he just doesn’t know any Fódlan songs. He’s got enough drinks in him and friends around him at this point that he’ll pull out something.”

They turned to see Nardel grinning down at them. “Why would he not know any Fódlan songs?” Dimitri asked.

Byleth raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you really not figured it out yet? He’s not been exactly subtle about his birthplace.”

Dimitri frowned. “I confess I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve always assumed that he was born closer to the Throat than the Kingdom, but that should not disallow him from learning Fódlan drinking songs. Unless his grandfather somehow forbid any knowledge of them…”

“He was definitely born closer to the Throat than the Kingdom. Try the _other side_ of the Throat, Mitya.”

Dimitri blinked down at her for a moment, then looked over to where Leonie and Hilda had finally wrestled Claude onto the waiting stage. “Ah.”

“Don’t go spreading it around, Your Highness,” Nardel said, grin turning into something deadly, “I wouldn’t want Faerghus to lose such a promising king.”

“I would never breathe a word.”

“Alright, fine!” Claude yelled, shoving Hilda and Leonie towards the stairs down from the stage, “Just gimme a minute to come up with something.”

The assembled cheered; Byleth, Dimitri, and Nardel turned to watch with bated breath. Onstage, Claude closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. His right hand started tapping against his leg, a beat only he could hear.

He inhaled, opened his mouth, and sung.

The entire world seemed to freeze as Claude’s deep voice belted out the beginning words of a song Byleth didn’t know. It resonated through the room, strength and power incarnate. The words were Almyran, and she suddenly wished she knew more than a scattered handful of curse words, but the emotion behind them was clear, shaking her to her core. Next to her, Dimitri straightened, emotions flitting over his face too quickly for her to put a name to any of them. Claude’s eyes were still closed, but his body was moving, gestures accentuating the notes’ power as he continued, emotions shining on his sleeve for once. 

She didn’t understand the words, and she was barely capable of putting names to emotions on a good day, but this one she knew. It was the same emotion as her students leaving packets of her favorite tea outside her door, as her father ruffling her hair after a good shot, as Nardel’s nicknames for his duke, as Sylvain’s soft smile when Felix wasn’t looking, as Flayn dragging Seteth down to the dining hall for a feast of fish.

One simple word: love.

Claude finished on a long, high note, stilling for a moment as he opened his eyes to let the song echo through the room.

He was looking right at her and Dimitri.

“You could have told us you can give Professor Manuela a run for her money!” Hilda shouted.

Claude shifted, curling in on himself slightly and rubbing the back of his neck as the rest of the group alternated between a standing ovation and wondering why, exactly, he’d never sung for them before. His sheepish smile didn’t leave his red face, though, even as his eyes kept straying to where Byleth and Dimitri sat.

Behind them, Nardel laughed. “Of all the songs he could have chosen.”

Byleth was at a loss for words, but luckily Dimitri managed to choke something out. “What’s so special about that one?”

“His father wrote it. For his _mother._ “The Fierce Flower of Fódlan” would be a good translation, but I think the version he just sang would be better translated flow _ers.”_

The two of them looked back at Claude with wide eyes. He was still red in the face, smile the most genuine one they’d seen in a while. He was making excuses for himself, obviously feigning a yawn as he ducked away from his former classmates and out into the hall. Nardel huffed, grabbing an arm each of Byleth and Dimitri and physically dragging them out another door. “Go tell the kiddo he’s not hopeless. Unless he’s saying he’s a hopeless romantic, in which case he absolutely is.”

He closed the door behind them, leaving the two of them standing awkwardly in the hall. “Uhm.”

Byleth glanced between Dimitri and the direction she was pretty sure Claude was heading. “I’m not wrong in interpreting that as a love song, am I?”

Dimitri managed a laugh. “No. No, I don’t think you are. And, Profe--no, my--my beloved, I don’t think Nardel’s words were so far off the mark, at least for me.”

Byleth shifted. “Okay. Good, because I’m horrible at this stuff, but I don’t think he was wrong either.”

Dimitri gestured in the direction of the wyvern stables. “Shall we, then?”

* * *

They found Claude in the middle of the stables, scratching at his wyvern’s scales as he murmured to her. Nasim snorted, lightly bumping his shoulder and settling down curled around him. He said something louder, distinctly in Almyran, before Byleth cleared her throat.

Claude jumped. “Oh. Hey, Teach, Your Kingliness.” His voice had picked up a slight lilt, which he seemed to notice himself as he looked away and cleared his throat. When he looked back, his speech was back to perfect Fódlan. “What are you doing here?”

“Nardel booted us out of the party and said we should come find you.”

“Of course he did,” Claude muttered. “I knew that song was a mistake.”

“It didn’t look like a mistake,” Dimitri said, settling down next to Claude’s wyvern. Nasim nosed at his cape for a moment before grunting and flopping her head down on Dimitri’s lap. The King of Faerghus froze for a moment, staring down at the giant white dragon head in his lap before hesitantly raising a hand and stroking down the wyvern’s neck. She purred, closing her eyes and relaxing. 

Claude wore a soft smile at the sight, startling out of it when Byleth put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m concerned about your definition of mistake if you think that was one. It was a lovely song.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, gazing out towards Fódlan’s Throat, “it is.”

She finally sat, completing their little circle of professor, king, wyvern, and duke. “Nardel told us a little about it.”

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why is it that I’m still getting heat for my dad’s actions? Baba is the biggest sap I’ve ever met, I _know.”_

Dimitri looked up, still petting Nasim. “Writing a love song for your beloved is indeed a romantic gesture. As is singing one.”

Claude froze, looking like a deer caught in the firelight. Byleth was worried for a moment that he was actually going to get up and run away before he laughed, self-deprecating, and sad. “I’ve been found out, haven’t I?”

“Just a little.”

He gazed down at the ground for a minute, seemingly putting his thoughts in order. Byleth reached out and rubbed a hand along his knee; Dimitri took the cue from her and shifted as best he could with Nasim’s head still on his lap to knock Claude’s other knee with his. “Do you want to hear a story?” he finally said.

At their answering nods, he took a deep breath and looked back up to Fódlan’s Throat. “Once upon a time, there was a prince of a land far to the east. Every day, he would train with his wyvern, waiting for the day that he would be called to do battle in the west. His father told him that the people of the west were heretics who had no knowledge of the stars, and he believed him. So he rode his wyvern, and he drew his bow, and he trained his voice to call down from the skies.

“One day, when his father was sick and couldn’t leave the palace, he was called to the west. Not to do battle, but to talk. The prince and princess of the west wanted to open their lands to each other, to learn what wisdom they could from the east and teach them what wisdom they had. The prince of the east got to the meeting ground first and waited, not knowing if he should be considering a trap.

“He looked up at the sky at the roar of a wyvern, expecting his brethren coming to defend him, but instead saw someone else. The princess of the west landed with her wyvern, chestnut hair whipping behind her in the wind and green eyes sparkling in the sun. The prince found he couldn’t speak, so struck he was by her beauty.

“The agreement required time and many meetings, and slowly, the prince of the east began to consider that his father was wrong, that these people may not know of the stars, but they knew how to be kind, and that was really the same thing, wasn’t it? And through it all, the princess of the west was with him, green eyes following him like a wyvern follows prey. They exchanged letters every chance the prince got, and slowly, day by day, he fell in love with the green-eyed princess. He wrote her poetry, sparred with her, even gained a scar across his arm from her sword. He fell in love with how she looked in battle, a golden glow skittering across her arms, with her skill with the sword and bow, with her boisterous laugh, with the gentle smile she reserved only for him.

“And one day, when they were so close to getting the agreement through, the prince of the west held a party that he invited the prince of the east to. He was invited to share some of his homeland’s entertainment, another thing that would help them learn from each other. So the prince of the east, now the king, considered, watching his wyvern soar through the sky with the green-eyed princess’s. He had never abandoned his training, knowing that he would always need to call down from the skies, but now he thought of a different use. He took one of the poems he’d written the princess, and he put it to notes. He sang it for her in front of every noble from her land, showering them in notes of love and devotion and praise. 

“But the agreement fell because the nobles of the west and the governors of the east did not agree with their leaders. The princess, angry with her father and brother, took her wyvern and her sword to the east and landed in the palace gardens. The king married her, and whenever she had a sad look in her eye, gazing over the Throat to her dead brother and ailing father, he would sing her the song he had written her. He sang it to their son too, the youngest of the king’s children, whenever his half-siblings or the governors’ children decided he was too different from them, that the golden glow that sometimes surrounded him was scary. It was a comfort, a song of love and warmth.

“But the young prince was sent away for his own safety, away from the governors with poisoned wine, away from the hired assassins that even the queen’s sword could not always stop. It wasn’t supposed to be for very long, but his homeland became embroiled in its own war, a rebellion of its southern reaches against the king and the green-eyed queen. His mother’s land descended into its own strife as his grandfather died, leaving him to rule a country he barely knew that was pulling apart at the seams. 

“So sometimes, he had his wyvern fly him to the very top of his castle and sat under the stars, staring out over the Throat, imagining the queen of the east mirroring him, and the king singing the song to her. He’d sing it to himself, reminding him that there were people that loved him, even if they couldn’t be next to him, giving himself the strength to face the next day.

“And then, just when he was almost ready to give up, when despair threatened to swallow him whole, he found two people he never thought he’d see again. They made him smile, even made him laugh, and he found himself trusting them as he had never trusted anyone but his parents. Before he knew it, he had fallen in love. But there was a war on, and that was extra baggage they didn’t need to carry, so he resolved to wait.” Claude paused for a moment, deprecating half-smile back on his face. “And then his best friend found out he could sing, from the same wyvern training his father had, and in a fit of lovesick pining, he sang the stupid song.”

The three sat in silence for long moments, the only sound Nasim’s huffing as she lifted her head from Dimitri’s lap and turned towards the food laid out on the other side of the stables. “Sorry, I know this isn’t what I’m supposed to take from this,” Dimitri started, brushing hair back from his eye, “but you’re a _prince?”_

Claude laughed and stuck a hand out like he was asking to shake hands. “Prince Khalid, heir presumptive to the throne of Almyra, at your service, Your Highness, Professor. And before you ask yes it’s presumptive, not apparent; Baba named me crown prince, but my own half-siblings are some of those people trying to poison my wine and take the title back.”

Dimitri took the hand, looking down at it for a moment before looking back up at Claude (Khalid?) with narrowed eyes. “Your own siblings.”

“Hey, okay, they’re not _all_ bad, and honestly, I’d just rather forget about them? I’m supposed to be admitting I’m in love with you two right now.”

Claude seemed to realize what he’d said only after saying it, mouth moving into a little _oh._ Byleth grinned at that, sharing a knowing look with Dimitri and leaning in to press a kiss to Claude’s cheek. Somewhat awkwardly given his position and the fact he was so much taller than either of them, Dimitri leaned around and pressed a kiss into Claude’s hair. “We love you too, Khalid.”

He _shivered,_ body abruptly releasing all its tension as he slumped into their awkwardly angled embrace. Dimitri shifted behind him as Byleth twisted to better pull them both into a hug, humming the song under her breath. “As much as I love hearing my name from you two,” Claude mumbled after a few moments, “It’s not something I should advertise.”

“Well,” Byleth said into his ear, “we’ll just have to save it for whispered good mornings and pillow covered evenings.”

“Whispered good mornings, huh?”

“Yes,” Dimitri said, a certain definitiveness in his tone even through a yawn.

Byleth stood, offering a hand to both of them. “I vote we make tomorrow the first one and go crash into bed. I hear Duke Riegan’s got a big one, and doubt he’d mind sharing.”

Claude laughed, cheekiness back in his smile. “No, no, he wouldn’t mind. And, By, Dima?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

* * *

When the three of them finally stumble down to the dining room the next morning, Nader gives him a grin. Khalid glares at him, a promise of petty revenge on his uncle in his eyes. Nader just laughs, ruffles his bedhead, and tells him that Hilda has absolutely figured out what happened last night.

With Byleth and Dimitri both leaning against his shoulders, he finds he can’t bring himself to care.


End file.
